


A Rare Treat

by CorsetJinx



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, poor mccree, possibly mixed signals, unspoken flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7568161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The way you flirt is shameful.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rare Treat

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to "Disconnect".

“Y’know, the way you flirt is downright shameful.” Jesse mutters into the humid air. His cigarillo shifts as he speaks, a weak stream of smoke rising from the ashy tip. He pinches it between his thumb and forefinger, brushes the ashes off until he can spot the burnt ends of tobacco. The drag he takes is slow and it brightens the embers to a bright cherry red once more.

Hanzo says nothing, chin raised a little as he takes a slow sip of sake from a cup that still seems too small and shallow to Jesse. Even after trying it for himself - making a fool of himself if he wanted to be honest - he understands the reason but doesn’t quite appreciate it.

Watching Hanzo drink it might make him change his mind, Jesse thinks. From their spot under one of the few trees on Watchpoint’s compound the orange-gold sunlight paints his companion in regal tones he’s sees church windows try to achieve. Not holy, no - there’s something missing from the scene that makes that impossible.

But it brings out the sable of Hanzo’s hair and neatly trimmed beard, smooths the wings of gray at his sideburns and temples into something less harsh than age. Hanzo’s skin is almost golden brown under it, darkened by days training out in the elements rather than running one of Winston’s simulations. The silk of his clothes shimmers a little if he shifts, gold thread in particular catching the light.

Jesse realizes he’s staring as his eyes start to seek out the dragon tattoo on Hanzo’s arm. As he averts his gaze he catches the look a single brown eye is giving him and feels himself flush.

Hanzo’s stare has always been a striking one - no matter the circumstances.

Now it is one that sets a low heat stirring in Jesse’s middle. 

The sake cup is lowered, has been Jesse suspects for a little while now, and Hanzo’s eyes are half-lidded as they regard each other. In this light the brown of the archer’s eyes looks warmer, less judging and severe. There’s a faint quirk on Hanzo’s lips that Jesse regrets looking at the instant he sees it - his mouth drying out as he tries to look somewhere safe that doesn’t make him want to lean across the short distance between them and start something outdoors.

“I have done nothing shameful. Perhaps it is your own mind that makes it so.” The smirk spreads as Hanzo speaks. His tone is warm, surprisingly enough. It might even be called teasing if Jesse had the mind to call him on it.

He thinks back to the greeting that morning - of the archer’s hand brushing against his own and the penetrating stare of dark eyes that had woken him up faster than a cup of coffee. He thinks also of the sight he’d been treated to, watching Hanzo test and string his bow - the slow, practiced motions of his fingers and the way he’d rolled his bare shoulder before aiming to fire at a target.

“No offense, but y’re a goddamn liar.” He says without thinking, cigarillo smoke in his lungs and a dragon staring him languidly in the face with another cup of sake half-raised to thin lips he wants to kiss.

Hanzo’s sip is measured. All practiced perfection and grace. The archer tips his head back a little further than before, exposing his throat just in time for Jesse to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

In the time it takes for it to register, for parts of him to heat up further and tighten, Hanzo lowers his head.

“Is that so?” A single dark brow lifts and an actual smile crosses the archer’s face for the briefest second. “Prove it then.”

 _Now that’s just unfair_ , Jesse thinks, even as he reaches up to slip the cigarillo from his mouth.


End file.
